CHAPTER XXXVII
THE GREAT HEALER
It was late in the afternoon when the Mallow car once more purred up tothe door of Trenby Hall and Nan descended from it. She was lookingvery pale, her face like a delicate white cameo beneath the shadow ofher hat, while the clinging black of her gown accentuated the slenderlines--too slender, now--of her figure. She had not yet discarded hermourning for Lord St. John, but in any case she would have felt thatgay colours could have no part in to-day.
Kitty had told her of Barry's interview with Trenby and of its utterfutility, and, although Nan had been prepared to sacrifice her wholeexistence to the man who had suffered so terrible an injury, she wasbitterly disappointed that he proposed exacting it from her as a rightrather than accepting it as a free gift.
If for once he could have shown himself generous and offered to giveher back her freedom--an offer she would have refused to accept--howmuch the fact that each of them had been willing to make a sacrificemight have helped to sweeten their married life! Instead, Roger hadforced upon her the realisation that he was unchanged--still the samearrogant "man with the club" that he had always been, insisting on hisown way, either by brute force or by the despotism of a moralobligation which was equally compelling.
But these thoughts fled--driven away by a rush of overwhelmingsympathy--when her eyes fell on the great, impotent hulk of a man wholay propped up against his pillows. A nurse slipped past her in thedoorway and paused to whisper, as she went:
"Don't stay too long. He's run down a lot since this morning. Ibegged him not to see any more visitors to-day, but he insisted uponseeing you."
The nurse recalled very vividly the picture of her patient when she hadendeavoured to dissuade him from this second interview--his white,rather drawn face and the eyes which blazed feverishly at her beneaththeir penthouse brows.
"You've got to let me see my best girl to-day, nurse," he had said,forcing a smile. "After that you shall have your own way and work yourwicked will on me."
And the nurse, thinking that perhaps a visit from his "best girl" mighthelp to allay the new restlessness she found in him, had yielded,albeit somewhat reluctantly.
"Oh, Roger!" With a low cry of dismay Nan ran to the bed and slippeddown on her knees beside it.
"It's a rotten bit of luck, isn't it?" he returned briefly.
She expected the fierce clasp of his arms about her and had steeledherself to submit to his kisses without flinching. But he did notoffer to kiss her. Instead, pointing to a chair, he said quietly:
"Pull up that chair--I'm sorry I can't offer to do it for you!--and sitdown."
She obeyed, while he watched her in silence. The silence lasted solong that at last, finding it almost unbearable, she broke it.
"Roger, I'm so--so grieved to see you--like this." She leaned forwardin her chair, her hands clasped tightly together. "But don't give uphope yet," she went on earnestly. "You've only had one specialist'sopinion. He might easily be wrong. After a time, you may be walkingabout again as well as any other man. I've heard of such cases."
"And I suppose you're banking on the hope that mine's one of them, sothat you'll not be tied to a helpless log for a husband. Is that it?"
She shrank back, hurt to the core of her. If he were to be always likethis--prey to a kind of ferocious suspicion of every word and act ofhers, then the outlook for the future was dark indeed. The burden ofit would be more than she could bear.
Roger, seeing her wince, gestured apologetically.
"I didn't mean quite all that," he said quickly. "I'm rather like anewly-caged wild beast--savage even with its keeper. Still, any womanmight be forgiven for preferring to marry a sound man rather than acripple. You're ready to go on with the deal, Nan?"
"Yes, I'm ready," she answered in a low voice.
"Have you realised all it means? I'm none too amiable at the best oftimes"--grimly. "And my temper's not likely to improve now I'm tied bythe leg. You'll have to fetch and carry, and put up with all the whimsand tantrums of a very sick man. Are you really sure of yourself?"
"Quite sure."
His hawk's eyes flashed over her face, as though he would piercethrough the veil of her grave and tranquil expression.
"Even though Peter Mallory's free to marry you now?" he demandedsuddenly.
"Peter!" The word came in a shrinking whisper. She threw out herhands appealingly. "Roger, can't we leave the past behind? We've eacha good deal"--her thoughts flew back to that dreadful episode in theimprovised studio--"a good deal to forgive. Let us put the past quiteaway--on the top shelf"--with a wavering little laugh--"and leave itthere. I've told you I'm willing to be your wife. Let's start afreshfrom that. I'll marry you as soon as you like."
After a long pause:
"I believe you really would!" said Roger with a note of sheerwonderment in his voice.
"I've just said so."
"Well, my dear"--he smiled briefly--"thank you very much for the offer,but I'm not going to accept it."
"Not going to accept it!" she repeated, utterly bewildered. "But youcan't--you won't refuse!"
"I can and I do--entirely refuse to marry you."
Nan began to think his mind was wandering.
"No," he said, detecting her thought. "I'm as sane as you are. Comehere--a little closer--and I'll tell you all about it."
Rather nervously, Nan drew nearer to him.
"Don't be frightened," he said with a strange kindness and gentlenessin his voice. "I had a visitor this morning who told me someunpalatable truths about myself. He asked me to release you from yourengagement, and I flatly refused. He also enlightened my ignoranceconcerning Peter Mallory and informed me he was now free to marry you.That settled matters as far as I was concerned! I made up my mind Iwould never give you up to another man." He paused. "Since then I'vehad time for reflection. . . . Reflection's a useful kind ofthing. . . . Then, when you came in just now, looking like a brokenflower with your white face and sorrowful eyes, I made a snatch atwhatever's left of a decent man in this battered old frame of mine."
He paused and took Nan's hand in his. Very gently he drew the ring hehad given her from her finger.
"You are quite free, now," he said quietly.
"No, no!" Impulsively she tried to recover the ring. "Let me be yourwife! I'm willing--quite, quite willing!" she urged, her heartoverflowing with tenderness and pity for this man who was nowvoluntarily renouncing the one thing left him.
"But Mallory wouldn't be 'quite willing,'" replied Roger, with atwisted smile. "Nor am I. And an unwilling bridegroom isn't likely tomake a good husband!"
Nan's mouth quivered.
"Roger--" she began, but the sob in her throat choked into silence therest of what she had meant to say. Her hands went out to him, and hetook them in his and held them.
"Will you kiss me--just once, Nan?" he said. "I don't think Mallorywould grudge it me."
She bent over him, and for the first time unshrinkingly and withinfinite tenderness, laid her lips on his. Then very quietly she leftthe room.
She was conscious of a sense of awe. First Maryon, and now, to an evengreater degree, Roger, had revealed some secret quality of finenesswith which no one would have credited them.
"I shall never judge anyone again," she told Kitty later. "You can'tjudge people! I shall always believe that everyone has got a littlepatch of goodness somewhere. It's the bit of God in them. Even JudasIscariot was sorry afterwards, and went out and hanged himself."
She was thankful when she came downstairs from Roger's bedroom to findthat there was no one about. A meeting with Lady Gertrude at themoment would have been of all things the most repugnant to her. With afeeling of intense thankfulness that the thin, steel-eyed woman wasnowhere to be seen, she stepped into the car and was borne swiftly downthe drive. At the lodge, however, where the chauffeur had perforce topull up while the lodge-keeper opened the gates, Isobel Carson cameinto sight, and common co
urtesy demanded that Nan should get out of thecar and speak to her. She had been gathering flowers--for Roger'sroom, was Nan's involuntary thought--and carried a basket, full oflovely blossoms, over her arm.
In a few words Nan told her of her interview with Roger.
Isobel listened intently.
"I'm glad you were willing to marry him," she said abruptly, as Nanceased speaking. "It was--decent of you. Because, of course, you werenever in love with him."
"No," Nan acknowledged simply.
"While I've loved him ever since I knew him!" burst out Isobel. "Buthe's never looked at me, thought of me like that! Perhaps, now you'reout of the way--" She broke off, leaving her sentence unfinished.
Into Nan's mind flashed the possibility of all that this mightmean--this wealth of wasted love which was waiting for Roger if hecared to take it.
"Would you marry him--now?" she asked.
"Marry him?" Isobel's eyes glowed. "I'd marry him if he couldn't movea finger! I love him! And there's nothing in the world I wouldn't dofor him."
She looked almost beautiful in that moment, with her face irradiated bya look of absolute, selfless devotion.
"And I wouldn't rest till he was cured!" The words came pouring fromher lips. "I'd try every surgeon, in the world before I'd give uphope, and if they failed, I'd try what love--just patient, helpfullove--could do! One thinks of a thousand ways which might cure whenone loves," she added.
"Love is a great Healer," said Nan gently. "I'm not sure that_anything's_ impossible if you have both love and faith." She paused,her foot on the step of the car. "I think--I think, some day, Rogerwill open the door of his heart to you, Isobel," she ended softly.
She was glad to lean back in the car and to feel the cool rush of theair against her face. She was tired--immensely tired--by the strain ofthe afternoon. And now the remembrance came flooding back into hermind that, even though Roger had released her, she and Peter were stillset apart--no longer by the laws of God and man, but by the fact thatshe herself had destroyed his faith and belief in her.
She stepped wearily out of the car when it reached Mallow. She waslate in returning, and neither Kitty nor Penelope were visible as sheentered the big panelled hall. Probably they had already gone upstairsto dress for dinner.
As she made her way slowly towards the staircase, absorbed in ratherbitter thoughts, a slight sound caught her ear--a sudden stir ofmovement. Then, out of the dim shadows of the hall, someone cametowards her--someone who limped a little as he came.
"Nan!"
For an instant her heart seemed to stop beating. The quiet, drawlingvoice was Peter's, no longer harsh with anger, nor stern with theenforced repression of a love that was forbidden, but tender andenfolding as it had been that moonlit night amid the ruins of KingArthur's Castle.
"Peter! . . . Peter! . . ."
She ran blindly towards him, whispering his name.
How it had happened she neither knew nor cared--all that mattered wasthat Peter was here, waiting for her! And as his arms closed roundher, and his voice uttered the one word: "Beloved!" she knew that everybarrier was down between them and that the past, with all its blundersand effort and temptations, had been wiped out.
Presently she leaned away from him.
"Peter, I used to wonder _why_ God kept us apart. I almost lost myfaith--once."
Peter's steady, blue-grey eyes met hers.
"Beloved," he said, "I think we can see why, even now. Isn't ourlove . . . which we've fought to keep pure and clean . . . beencrucified for . . . a thousand times better and finer thing than thelove we might have snatched at and taken when it wasn't ours to take?"
She smiled up at him, a tender gravity in her face. Her thoughtsslipped back to the little song which seemed to hold so strange asymbolism of her own life. The third verse had come true at last. Sherepeated it aloud, very softly:
"But sometimes God on His great white Throne Looks down from the Heaven above, And lays in the hands that are empty The tremulous Star of Love."
Peter stooped and kissed her lips. There was a still, quiet passion inhis kiss, but there was something more--something deep andintransmutable--the same unchanging troth which, he had given her atTintagel of love that would last "through this world into the next."
THE END
The Moon out of Reach Page 37
